


more than just a party girl

by parishilton



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/F, Jealousy, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parishilton/pseuds/parishilton
Summary: party girl is standing in her doorway wearing pink and white striped satin pajamas, the kind spencer’s mother, wealthy as she is, wouldn’t be caught dead wearing for fear of appearing too kitschy, even to her own husband.“you’re going to let me stand out in the hallway in my pajamas - with my cats - for everyone to see?” she asks in disbelief.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> basically read this like hanna is sonja morgan and spencer is bethenney frankel. 
> 
> title from queen of disaster by lana del rey.

“it’s a mandatory party, hastings,” her boss tells her through his abhorrent coffee breath, which never ceases to make spencer wonder if her own breath smells at all similar after her third or fourth espresso of the day. “be more like your brother,” he encourages patronizingly, “bring a date.” 

spencer grimaces, shifting uncomfortably in her shiny prada loafers. “half brother,” she corrects. 

her boss shrugs and pats her on the shoulder amicably. “you have one month to find a date. shouldn’t be hard with a pretty face like that.” 

no, it had never been especially hard for spencer to find a date. she knew very well she could walk into any bar downtown that evening and pick up some guy - any guy - to bring to the party. well-meaning men in slacks and button-ups who all love to compliment spencer’s eyes, but can never remember her name in the morning. well, spencer sees no point in going through the motions with some stranger at a bar, nor one of her parents’ friends’ sons, who always claim to have a kennedy connection for some reason, all to placate her misogynistic sixty-year-old waspy boss. she will just have to focus on getting this promotion the old-fashioned way: with raw talent and knowledge and a thirst for success. it’s gotten her this far, after all. 

spencer grinds her teeth and trots back to the dining hall, where jason is sitting very leisurely with a leaflet in front of him. his ashy blonde hair is being temporarily brushed away from his eyes with a number two pencil stashed behind his ear. 

“just do what he says for once,” jason drawls, “and you could be in my position this time next week.” 

spencer sits down rigidly in front of jason, folds a napkin out onto her own lap, and pulls her plastic silverware out of her bag. “oh, good. i’ve always wanted to be the one cleve calls when the power in his bathroom goes out.” 

“still get paid better than you,” jason interjects. 

spencer supposes he likely deserves it, risking being electrocuted every day and all. jason is not exactly on their payroll, but he comes often enough that everyone on staff knows his lunch choice will always be pasta and garlic bread. typically, jason will attempt bad pick-up lines on all the women who work with spencer - “ _i’m an electrician, so i can really light up your world_ ” - until spencer’s boss pulls him away and has him work on the wiring that frequently changes due to exhibits being moved.  

“not for long,” spencer promises. she can feel jason’s skepticism radiating off of his shiny little nose, perhaps from sweating while working in one of the new exhibits, although he’s brought the pamphlet up to conceal his face. “you know,” she begins loftily, “we _are_ related, jason.” 

“you don’t say?” jason says around a huge mouthful of pasta. 

spencer purses her lips. “i could _feel_ your skepticism a mile away. you’re too much like me.” 

“i’m older,” he argues, “so _you’re_ too much like _me_.” 

jaded by the tender age of twelve, jason has always been perpetually stone-faced and somber, though spencer brings out his sense of humor, however dry it might be. his younger full-blooded sister alison has always been favored over him by the tightly-wound dilaurentis clan, and he has the eternal expression akin to a soldier who has seen one too many limbs blown off, a far cry from a few screaming matches held in a suburban home on the east coast.

“why don’t you just ask melissa to put a good word in?” 

spencer scowls. “i don’t _need_ her handouts. i’m perfectly capable of honing my own talents.”

“melissa hastings giving handouts?” jason grins, toying with his plastic cutlery. “like some kind of spineless democrat? i don’t believe it.”

spencer taps her foot impatiently under the table, ignoring him. “i will get my promotion through undeniable genius, not through _nepotism_.” the word comes out in a quiet hiss, as it should, as it’s a dirty word, more so than any of the kinds jason uses when he falls off ladders or trips over extension cords.

“oh, really?” jason asks. “you’ve been saying that for a year now, but when’s it going to happen?” 

spencer sharply grabs the leaflet from jason and points to it. “i’m going to impress him at the party with my impenetrable knowledge of all eight new exhibits. from anne of boleyn to andrew jackson, i know _everything_ about this place.” 

“yeah?” jason asks, grinning. “why don’t you impress him by proving your womanliness isn’t impenetrable?”  

spencer refuses to bat an eye to encourage any of jason’s behavior. “for someone without a date to the boss’ party, you’re awfully smug,” spencer tuts. 

“i _do_ have a date,” jason corrects casually. “that new intern - aria something - she asked _me_.” 

“the little one that wears false lashes every day?” spencer asks. 

jason grins again. “you better watch it. she’ll be _your_ boss one day.”

* * *

 spencer is most definitely not a nosey person or a snoop, but she is _inquisitive_. almost every night a different genre of music blares from the apartment above her’s. tonight it’s spanish ballads - at full volume - echoing back at spencer as she’s trying to order take-out over the phone. 

“that’s wonton soup - one order - and-” spencer pauses as the music gets seemingly louder and decides to call back later. she stomps out her door and up one flight of stairs in her navy ralph lauren socks and straight to the door where the music is playing from. 

after banging on her neighbor’s door for several minutes and being ignored, spencer’s temper flares up, but when the door finally swings open to reveal an impossibly gorgeous blonde wearing a hot pink ruffled floor-length spanish party dress, spencer’s words get lost on their way out of her mouth. 

“your music,” spencer manages dumbly, “it’s very -”

“what?” the girl yells over the ballad. “hang on!” spencer watches in amazement as the girl gracefully hops over one enormous white cat and what looks to be about twenty yards of pink fabric rolled out along the floor. a party girl is what spencer sees, one with more air than facts between her ears, and one who probably sees spencer as an annoying self-righteous bitch. 

the music quiets down until it’s just a distant hum in the background. the girl reemerges, one arm enveloping an enormous orange cat with a very squishy face. “sorry,” she laughs awkwardly, “he likes to eat my seating charts, so i had to move them while i was back there.” 

spencer’s eyes meet the cat’s scowling eyes and she feels as though it can read her mind, is plainly aware spencer came to yell at it’s owner, and it is most displeased about this. 

“well,” spencer folds her arms over her chest, losing the heat in her voice fast, “just keep the music down. some of us actually _work_ in the morning.” 

the girl looks taken aback. she hugs her puffy cat closer to her as if her feelings have been hurt and the orange monster is her stress ball. “you’re saying i don’t work?” 

spencer, who excelled in debate in high school and won several trophies for her school, retaliates out of mere habit alone. “i’m saying i work harder and have more of an influential and inspiring job than most.”

the girl’s jaw locks, face going pink with anger. “i’ll be sure to keep the volume _up_ ,” she promises, “on _your_ behalf.” she closes her door, but not before the puffy orange and squishy-faced cat glares at spencer through the slit in the door. 

* * *

for the next three consecutive nights, the girl blasts her spanish ballads so loudly that spencer dreams of the spanish soap operas her grandmother used to watch when spencer would stay with her when she was young. on the third night, spencer opens a new tab on her laptop, and emails her landlord, titling the subject box with “ _i’d like to file a noise complaint_ ” and merrily sends it off without thinking twice.

* * *

 two nights go by with absolutely no noise coming from the floor above her at all - not even the subtle click-clack of heels going back and forth across wood that spencer got so accustomed to with her last neighbor, before _party girl_ , as spencer is calling her, moved in. 

_party girl_ must have gotten the memo about a noise complaint being filed against her, spencer thinks triumphantly. she so adores to _win_. more than anything, winning is her absolute favorite feeling in the world.

she sleeps soundly until she wakes suddenly to her own door being banged on obnoxiously. she tumbles out of bed gracelessly in her drawstring american apparel hoodie and oversized men’s boxers, barefoot and bewildered, seeing that the time on her oven reads six in the morning. 

“well, look who just rolled out of bed,” _party girl_ taunts, “thought you said you had to be up early in the mornings?” 

spencer’s jaw drops. she tries to zip up her hoodie hastily, remembering that her white tee shirt is thin and nearly transparent and spencer is, as always, braless. “what are you doing here?” 

the girl raises both eyebrows - flawlessly waxed, of course - and snidely says, “inviting yourself to a stranger’s apartment to yell at them? i can’t imagine what _that_ must feel like.” she hikes up her arms, one enormous puffy and squishy-faced cat under each, peeking out from _party girl’s_ pajama sleeves. spencer fully expects _party girl_ to launch into an audrey hepburn monologue.

spencer’s eyes still feel sleep-crusted and bleary. she becomes painfully aware of her knobby knees and the way her under-eyes always look gaunt and purple without heaps of concealer. _party gir_ l is standing in her doorway wearing pink and white striped satin pajamas, the kind spencer’s mother, wealthy as she is, wouldn’t be caught dead wearing for fear of appearing too kitschy, even to her own husband. _party girl_ has exquisite diamond earrings in and her hair blown out to perfection, something spencer never manages to do for work, much less at six in the morning on the weekends.

“well?” _party girl_ asks. 

spencer balks. “well _what_?” 

_party girl_ looks at spencer like she has two heads. “well, aren’t you going to let me in?” she asks in exasperation.

“no,” spencer says in a final sort of way, the tone she uses at work when she wants cleve to leave her the hell alone. “i don’t think so.” 

“you’re going to let me stand out in the hallway in my pajamas - with my cats - for everyone to see?” she asks in disbelief. 

spencer is very confused as to why this girl seems to be under the impression spencer owes her something. 

“they’re against the policy!” party girl continues. 

“...which is my concern because?”

_party girl_ huffs and presses one elbow to spencer’s door, brushing past spencer as she lets herself in. she first drops one cat, the offensively fluffy white one, then drops the offensively vibrant orange one. “no, no, play nice, minnie. no batting at your brother.” 

spencer watches with the sort of horrified expression that blooms over her mother’s face when she flips past the gaudy, knockoff sapphire and emerald necklaces sold on live tv. spencer has never been so out of bounds in her own apartment before. what if she was allergic to cats? she’s never so much as picked one up before. she glances at them apprehensively. “what’s wrong with their faces?” she asks. 

_party girl_  scowls. “they’re _persians_.” 

“are they descendants to some sort of ancient babylonian breed of cat?” spencer asks. “we actually added a persian empire exhibit to the fall lineup about three years-” 

“here,” _party girl_ says, thrusting a fluorescent pink handbag stamped with gucci's logo into spencer’s hands. “around seven you can give them their fancy feast.” 

spencer gapes. “i am _not_ your catsitter.” she blinks rapidly. “what makes you think i’m not allergic?” 

_party girl_ folds her arms over her chest. “so sneeze. go ahead.”

spencer wills herself to sneeze, she really does, and honest to god, it almost works. 

_party girl_ smirks. “that’s what i thought.” 

spencer sputters unintelligibly. “your overgrown gremlins are _not_ my problem, and i will most certainly _not_ be-” 

“it was _your_ email that made our landlord request a visit to my apartment,” she interrupts, now pink with anger, “and i will _not_ be throwing my children out onto the street to live like common _strays_ -” 

despite still feeling fully validated by the noise coming from this girl’s apartment every night in filing the complaint, she does not actually take pride in potentially causing two cats that are, quite frankly, clearly domesticated to the point of not being able to use a litter box not spritzed with chanel perfume, to become homeless.

“fine,” spencer says, “but just for as long as it takes for him to meet with you. no spontaneous trips to the spa after that.” 

_party girl_ glares. “for your information, i had to cancel a meeting with an important client for this appointment with our landlord that _you_ made happen. here’s my card. call if you ever need someone to plan any parties for your boyfriend’s polo matches.”

she exits spencer’s apartment in a flurry of pink and white satin, gone just as quickly as she had come, and spencer is left with two gigantic furballs sitting on her kitchen island, rubbing up against her napkin holder, and a pink perforated business card that reads _hanna marin_ on it. 

* * *

spencer learns very quickly that she is _not_ a cat person. she had mastered horseback riding at age eleven, had beat skilled professionals at chess, could sprint faster than any other girl on her track team, and had passed her finals her senior year of college with her history exams being in the top five percentile, and yet she cannot, apparently, care for a cat.

when she reaches out to pet the white one, it turns it’s back on her and it’s tail whacks her in the face. when she goes to give the orange one it’s breakfast, it turns it’s nose up at the food and stalks away and into spencer’s bedroom to, presumably, jump on her bed and leave orange hair on her pillows. 

when hanna comes back, she’s no longer in her showy pajamas. she’s wearing a pale pink camisole, a black pencil skirt, and black stilettos. she reaches down to pet one of her monsters, looking at it in admiration. “ready to go home, roman?” 

“judging it went well?” spencer asks, not bothering to feign disinterest.  

hanna straightens up quickly and tugs on the bottom of her skirt as if she's afraid it’d been riding up. “well, aside from the fact that the landlord almost saw the litter box i forgot to hide in the pantry, yes. unfortunately for you, looks like i’ll still be living above you.” 

spencer tries to bite down a grin. “just keep the quinceañeramusic down, will you?” 

“tonight’s selection will be entirely free of _both_ selenas, i promise.”

spencer sighs. “hanna….”

“my housewarming party is tomorrow night,” she starts, with a teasing smile, “feel free to stop by. the theme is early christmas.” 

* * *

tinsel adorned cat-collars are the first thing spencer sees when the door opens to hanna’s apartment. the second thing she sees is one very drunk intern holding the beasts. one cat’s set of claws hang tangled in the girl’s hair - not in aggravated assault, but rather in lazy contempt, which it must have learned from it’s owner.

“spencer, right?” the girl asks, a once presumably perfected brunette curl shaking hands politely with one tired-faced cat. “we work together, don’t we?”

“it’s a small world after all,” spencer says dryly.

aria giggles with nervousness. “more than you could imagine,” she says mischievously.

spencer’s mouth opens to ask if she means because aria is maybe dating her half-brother now, but she’s cut off by shouts of cocktails being made. 

“is everyone a cat person here besides me?” spencer asks to herself, under her breath, startled as she watches aria walk away to once again pick up one of the furry beasts and cup it’s face with both hands, cooing at it with her sharpened black nails scratching it’s head gently.

hanna appears seemingly from nowhere and sighs belatedly. “all of my exes love them.” she motions towards two girls sitting with the puffy monsters - one, aria, and two, someone spencer has never seen. “mona used to hate the smell of the catnip, though,” hanna continues, “but she’s with aria’s little brother now.”

spencer looks sharply from the two girls, now attempting to add long strands of red tinsel to the silver on the two cats’ collars, back to hanna. “you - dated - the one with the pigtails, dior eyeglasses, and tailored suit?” spencer asks, trying to imagine hanna dating a girl - much less one who looked like hillary clinton fucked pippi longstocking.

“ _don’t_ mention her glasses,” hanna warns, “she hasn’t worn them since middle school - she must have lost her contacts.”

spencer stares harder. “why does she look so familiar?”

“she’s the senator’s daughter,” hanna says, clicking her tongue.

spencer gawks. “oh my god, can you introduce me?” she asks, smoothing out her already crisp button-up.

“that depends,” hanna says, smirking. “are you looking for a job or a date?”

spencer's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "sorry?" 

hanna seems to purse her lips and spencer wonders if she will withhold important details from a story that’s likely none of her business to begin with. “we dated for two years,” she begins casually, head held high, but her voice dips and gives her away. “i did everything i could to move past booking clowns and miniature ponies for children’s birthday parties, just to make her proud of me, because she always said she wanted someone highly-esteemed. one day she came back from her charity auction event with the eighteen year old daughter of the dean of admissions for columbia’s grad school program.” hanna laughs around the rim of her glass. “they broke up a month after mona was accepted.”

spencer stares in a horrified stupor, it occurring to her why it might have struck a nerve with hanna when spencer had accused her of not being hardworking when they first met. spencer is most definitely not a nosey person, but she is _inquisitive_. “and the one my half-brother came with?”

hanna shrugs. “i met aria during my year abroad in iceland. her family had relocated there for her father’s business,” hanna says wistfully. “we could have met anywhere - a bar in harrisburg, a house party in rosewood. i thought it was meant to be that we met in iceland. it never amounted to anything.” hanna looks down into her martini glass and spencer thinks about all the girls she’s felt things for and how nothing had ever happened with any of them and wonders if it’d be insulting to mention this to hanna, to compare spencer’s dizzy teenage daydreams to hanna’s very real dating history. “she was looking for a girl to have fun with between all the student filmmakers and tortured poets.”despite the nature of the admission, hanna is smiling.

before spencer can stop herself, she’s opening her mouth to offer her own horror story. “my last boyfriend was only dating me because he had a crush on my half-brother, jason. i just thought he was really interested in being an electrician.”

hanna snorts drunkenly. “cheers,” she says, passing a martini glass to spencer and taking one for herself. with a twinkle in her eye, she says, “to half siblings, and also to me, because it's my housewarming party." 

spencer chinks her glass with hanna’s and hands her contribution over to hanna. “all i had was this _‘happy birthday’_ gift bag.”

“better than what your half-brother used,” hanna grins, pointing to a small package wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper, sitting sadly under hanna’s fake pink tree. “by the way, thank you for taking care of my cats. i knew you were the right neighbor.”

when hanna kisses her cheek, spencer can smell the brown sugar of the cookies she must have baked earlier, a liberal amount of the familiar chemical smell of hairspray, and perfume so subtle that spencer can guess hanna had spritzed it only once over her collarbones. spencer wants to ask what hairspray she uses so she can buy it and spray her pillowcases with it, and maybe poison herself with it, and never have to worry about pleasing her ridiculous boss again.

as hanna begins to open her gifts, one by one, spencer begins to get more and more uncomfortable, and she can’t understand why. for some reason, although the gifts don’t seem on the _surface_ to be outrageously inventive, they all seem to revolve around inside jokes. both of hanna’s exes at the party share laughs with hanna while she thanks them for their hilarious presents, and announces that yes, _of course_ she remembers the time she and aria got locked out of their car on spring break in miami and had to get towed all the way back to pennsylvania. the designer purse aria has gifted hanna has a tiny red car charm attached to the zipper. apparently it looks just like the one hanna used to have when they had been dating. and yes, _of course_ she remembers when she and mona had vacationed in the colorado ski resort that lost electricity for three days. and _thank you so much, mona,_ for the funny snowflake-patterned scarf and jewelry box.

spencer has never stayed friends with anyone after they’ve broken up. that lifestyle has never made any sense to her. she feels like she’s intruding on hanna’s personal, private stories. who can genuinely sit down and talk positively about past dating experiences with their exes over a cocktail and in front of all their mutual friends? _god_ , spencer sounds in her own head about as stuffy as melissa would.

“having fun?” jason asks, elbowing her lightly. he’s wearing an argyle sweater in green and white. this must be his idea of festive. 

spencer looks at him appraisingly. “nice sweater.”

“nice stick up your butt,” jason replies, "does it hurt when you sit?" 

"i'll let you know after i try," spencer says dryly. she can’t even be bothered to be angry because _oh, god, no._ hanna is reaching for spencer’s _‘happy birthday’_ gift bag now. she can feel jason’s eyes on her, probably because he only so rarely sees her visibly nervous.

“don’t be such a wet blanket,” jason whispers, elbowing her again. “i’m sure she’ll love her new dental floss and dental dams.”

spencer grimaces. “you’re revolting.”

“oh my god, it’s beautiful!” hanna exclaims from the other side of the room. several girls on either side of hanna murmur about how well-made it looks. it’s a hot pink italian leather yearly planner, embossed with hanna’s initials that spencer had seen from her business card. spencer had figured hanna could do with some structure in her life, especially holding down a party-planning business.

“wow, even more boring than i had thought,” jason says, sighing dramatically.

a half hour later, when hanna approaches spencer again, the leather-bound planner in tow, spencer tenses again. "it's not too boring, is it?" 

hanna laughs, adjusting the snowflake scarf already around her neck that mona had given her earlier. spencer's eyes can't help but zero in on it. "it's a very mature, but very thoughtful present." 

"i figure after this outlandish party, you can definitely use some of that," spencer says, without thinking. 

"outlandish?" hanna asks, seeming miffed. "i mean, i know pumpkin-spice martinis are tacky, but as far as i've noticed, there's no strippers or anything _that_ outlandish." 

spencer shrugs. "i guess i've just never been to a party where half the host's guests are their ex-girlfriends."  

the color washes from hanna's face. she looks like she's been slapped. "are you calling me a slut?" 

 _"no!"_ spencer exclaims. "no, i would never say that." she has never regretted a series of poor word choices more. 

hanna clutches tightly onto the planner, the skin on her hands turning pink. "but you were thinking it." 

"no," spencer says quietly, "i'm sorry, that's not-" 

hanna looks remarkably disappointed in spencer for someone who has known spencer for barely more than a week. spencer feels remarkably disappointed in herself for disappointing someone who she's known for barely more than a week. "i think you should go," hanna says, while making eye contact with her martini glass.

spencer escorts herself out. 

* * *

wearing a gray thermal top with her favorite navy hoodie and a pair of her half-brother’s sweatpants, spencer takes the stairs, afraid that the elevator could be out of order. when she reaches the lobby, there are people crowding the front desk, asking where the fire is. spencer thinks she hears the word kitchen, but follows the crowd outside. smoke stems from a downstairs window and spencer quickly moves to the other side of the street. 

someone bumps into spencer and she’s about to tell them off for not looking where they were going, until she sees that it’s hanna, and her complaint dies in her throat. 

hanna has pajamas on that would maybe not even be fit for hot summer nights and she’s wearing them in the dead of winter - a white satin tank top and matching shorts, visible orange cat hair on both, with knee-high fair isle slipper-socks on. she quivers violently in her state of undress. her bare shoulders shake so hard that spencer imagines a blender to be beneath her feet. her tiny white satin shorts billow in the wind and spencer expects she must be covered in goosebumps from head to toe. the absurdity of the outfit is only increased by the fact that a white satin sleeping mask has presumably been yanked down, now hanging loosely around hanna’s neck, seemingly forgotten in haste. 

when spencer can apparently no longer stand the silence, she clears her throat brazenly. “you should let them know,” she suggests. “there’s always a plea bargain.” 

hanna jerks her head to look to spencer, as if only just then realizing spencer is there. her eyes are wild and spencer wonders if she’d been afraid of the fire. “what?”

grinning ruefully, spencer continues, “what was it? cat turn on the oven while you were asleep? a two-hundred dollar candle left too close to the bed spread?” 

hanna turns her chin away from spencer in belittlement, mouth set into a flat line.

“what’s wrong?” spencer asks, trying to lighten the mood, picking an orange hair off of hanna’s shorts, “cat got your tongue?”

hanna blinks rapidly, as if to ward off tears, still not making eye contact. “minnie and roman are still upstairs.” 

“ _who_?” spencer asks in confusion, wondering if these are perhaps upstairs neighbors spencer has never met, or perhaps the names hanna has given to her favorite purses. 

“my _cats_ ,” hanna says brokenly. “you don’t think there’s a real fire, do you?” 

spencer’s eyes widen. “the smoke is coming from the first floor and they’re already extinguishing it.” she watches as hanna begins to cry harder at the confirmation that there is, indeed, a real fire. “they’ll be fine, hanna,” spencer promises, reaching out again, this time to pat at hanna’s back awkwardly as hanna continues to shake with shivers. 

“here,” spencer says, unthinkingly, peeling off her navy zip-up hoodie, “you need this more than i do.”

hanna looks at it for a long moment, maybe assessing it for any sign of it being dirty or too worn-in for her liking, although spencer thinks hanna has no real reason to be judgmental what with the amount of furballs she must have in her own home. “thank you,” she finally says with forced politeness.

spencer watches hanna shake too violently to fit the zipper onto it’s tracks, settling for wrapping her arms around her torso to keep the sweater tight. spencer sighs heavily. she reaches across and gently tugs on hanna’s arms until she can zip the sweater up for her. hanna seems too preoccupied with her own thoughts to process it.

by the time the fire trucks have disappeared and they’re being ushered back inside, hanna is such a mess that spencer would not feel right leaving her alone. several older gentleman spencer only knows by their apartment number offer to take hanna off of spencer’s hands and spencer feels murderous. 

“isn’t that your wife, over there, by the elevator?” spencer asks flatly, watching as the man from room twenty-four bores holes into her skull before walking away, as hanna sniffles on. 

hanna throws open the door to her apartment when they make it up to the twelfth floor, running inside at a speed spencer would only have presumed her able to run towards a sample sale. “spencer, look,” she laughs with manic relief, pointing. “did they not hear the sirens?” 

spencer feasts her eyes on two angelic-looking beasts napping practically on top of one another at the foot of hanna’s bed. “perks of having pets accustomed to extremely loud quinceañera music,” spencer says wryly.

hanna turns on her slippered heels, the suction-cupped bottoms making a loud squeaking sound across the floor of her apartment. “look, i’ll see you around,” she says, stony-faced and having apparently regained her scorned temperament. “better make sure i hide the blow dryer i left on the pillowcase.” 

as spencer stands in the doorway of hanna’s bedroom, hanna closes the door, and spencer is left in hanna’s empty and dark hallway.

spencer escorts herself out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> virgotrixie.tumblr.com


	2. two

the next day is friday, spencer’s regular day with jason, where they eat-in after work and alternate between episode of _the x-files_ and _mad men._  jason waits impatiently for spencer to get her mail, leaning against a row of spencer’s neighbors' mailboxes.

when spencer looks up, hanna is getting her mail too, wearing spencer’s hoodie. she looks up and catches spencer’s eyes briefly before looking back to the mail in her hands. spencer prays jason won’t notice the tension between his half sister and this stranger or the fact that this stranger’s hoodie looks awfully familiar to one of spencer’s. she wonders why hanna would even want to wear spencer’s hoodie after last night. maybe it’s the only comfortable thing she owns.

“crab rangoons, lo mein, wonton soup-” jason recites, finally looking up at hanna as she walks away. he looks like he’s about ready to chase after her actually, probably to ask for her number, and knowing jason’s charm, he would probably succeed.

spencer’s eyes dart back and forth between hanna’s back and jason, her heart hammering awkwardly out of her chest as she does so. “ _no_!” she blurts before she can stop herself.

jason jingles his set of keys, his copy of spencer’s apartment's key in his grasp, as he snorts. “when did you decide to take such a strong stance against wonton soup?” he asks, pressing the button to open the elevator doors.

spencer’s mouth puckers. “no - i just-” she gestures in the direction hanna had just been before stepping into the elevator. “i thought…”

jason frowns, following spencer into the elevator. “you thought i was going to follow her? so what if i had?”

spencer focuses on her monogrammed briefcase, looking down, suddenly red in the face and feeling something close to _humiliation_ , something she’s not used to feeling, in the hands of jason, or anyone else for that matter.

“is there something wrong with her?” jason asks.

spencer internally debates telling him she has some horrible, unattractive illness, so he won’t pursue her. “pink eye,” she says aloud, on accident, and then claps her hand over her mouth in shock. “no, she doesn’t have pink eye,” spencer clarifies, “i lied.”

jason drops his set of keys to spencer’s place by his side, suddenly more preoccupied with spencer’s fascinating case of mania than getting off the elevator and ordering dinner. “why would you say she has pink eye?”

spencer sputters on her own words for another minute before a look of understanding clouds his face and it’s as if he’s seeing her for the first time. “you’re into her,” he surmises.

“no,” spencer says quickly, the color draining out of her face. “i’ve never been attracted to women before.”

“before now, you mean?” jason asks casually.

spencer nods. “yes.” she grimaces. “i mean _no_! absolutely not.”

“you have no feelings for her at all?” jason questions. he watches furtively as spencer shakes her head. “so, i can run after her and ask her out?”

spencer feels her chest tighten in bitter jealousy. “please don’t.”

jason does the unthinkable. he pulls her into a tight hug and pats her back encouragingly. “relax, spence. i’m not gonna mack on your girl.”

“ _jason_ ,” spencer groans in frustration. “she’s not _my_ girl. she plans quinceañera parties and looks like a victoria’s secret model.” spencer thinks of a way to spin this conversation to jason like spencer doesn’t think hanna isn't good enough for her. “we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.”

jason suddenly looks very judgmental, which looks wildly _wrong_ on him, because for once he actually looks like his _mother_. not that spencer would ever tell him that. “what? just because she’s pretty, she must be dumb?” he waits for spencer to reply, but she’s too busy fiddling with her mail. “i’m living proof that you can be pretty _and_ smart.” he smiles his two-hundred watt smile and spencer groans again.

“fine, jason. maybe she _is_ both pretty and smart. maybe she’s the first utterly perfect human being to ever be born.” spencer finds this notion very hard to believe. she thinks it’s only fair that hanna would be less than stephen-hawking-smart to compensate for how pretty she was. how would it be fair for someone to look like _that_ and be smart on top of it?

“it’s possible,” jason clarifies, “but she would actually be the _second_ utterly perfect human being to ever be born. i don’t have any interest in dating someone as perfect as me, though, so you can call dibs now,” jason offers generously.

“do i look like a drunk fraternity brother in a judd apatow film?” spencer asks. “i don’t call _dibs_.”

jason grins. “are you sure? because when i was in a fraternity and one of my brothers loaned a girl their jacket, that meant they called dibs.”

spencer’s face colors again. dammit, he wasn’t supposed to notice that.

* * *

truthfully, spencer has been attracted to girls before.

horseback riding had always been something spencer found unbearably uncomfortable and, though she was capable of winning trophies, she hated the way her body thumped painfully down on the saddle when her horse leaped and, during her competitions, she wanted nothing more than to be in one of her sanctuaries instead - chess club, debate club, or anything else based on intellectual conversation or internal problem solving.

most of her competitors were very much like herself. they had rigid, spine-snapping posture on a horse, their hair tied back in ponytails tight enough to draw blood, and had reigns held with white-knuckled terror masquerading as vigor. all of them except one, who was a sunny blonde, as seraphic as her white horse, both her and the horse always with gold medals hung around their pearly necks. the horse always trotted the young girl to the pedestal where the trophy cups were placed even before the winner and first and second runner-ups were announced, as if it was so confident in it's own ability that it needn't hear it from the judges. 

alison, jason’s full-blooded sister, whom spencer shared no parents with, had named her horse _lolita_ after the nabokov novel. spencer had taken to calling alison _lolita_ , because every kid, teenager, and older man in the tri-state area fell at alison's feet if she so much as blinked at them. her strikingly pretty features were outnumbered only by the conniving and underhanded methods she used to get whatever she wanted. she had been penalized when she was only eleven years old because she had bribed a judge into rewarding her with a gold medal when she was to receive the silver.

spencer admired someone her own age for the first time in her life.

of course, alison was flat-out not interested in dating anybody without a small mind that could not be bent to her will, nor did spencer realize her feelings for alison were not completely platonic until years later, so spencer had let that ship sail. now, whenever she saw alison when jason had her over his place, they were cordial, and spencer was no longer attracted to her. 

truthfully, spencer had been attracted to girls after that too.

competitive swimming had been another disaster from the start. spencer had decided to take it for a winter sport to further her college transcripts while it was off-season for her tennis matches. it was horribly demeaning, though in a way altogether distinct from horseback riding. instead of parading around on an illustrious, proud pony for claps, spencer found herself being roughly pushed into the pool with no warning by her coach on numerous occasions, who would then use his shrilly whistle at her when she came up sputtering.

most of her competitors were not at all like spencer. they had become accustom to their coach’s harassment, no longer going pink when he physically checked to make sure their legs were shaved, their hair dripping all over their black nylon swimsuits as he ran one hand over pairs of legs that used to tremble out of discomfort, but now shrank in defeated acceptance.

emily, rosewood’s only openly sapphic swimmer, was so fast underwater that the school journalist who covered swim meets always chose her photos for the front pages of the student newspaper. spencer had taken to calling her _ariel_ not only because she swam with the ease of a mermaid, but also because she never listened to her father's warnings about taking the high road.  she had been penalized when she was only fifteen for buttering the diving board before her coach was to jump off of it, resulting in him having a minor concussion. allegedly, emily had done this because her coach had left bruises on another swimmer’s shoulders from pushing her into the pool too roughly. allegedly, this girl's name was spencer hastings.

spencer idolized someone her own age for the first time in her life.

of course, emily had never shown any further interest in spencer, had moved out of pennsylvania, and had made a life for herself in california. every once in a while, spencer still checked emily's facebook page to look at pictures of her surfing and snorkeling, seemingly just as at ease in the water as always, and wonder what could have been. 

 jason is her half brother and also her best friend, but spencer wouldn’t know how to describe to him the friendships she’d had over the years that had just barely skirted intimacy, brimming with warm intensity like spencer’s espressos, but never spilling over into what spencer truly wanted.

* * *

“congratulations, sister,” spencer reads dully, flipping over the card to see the price. “for only two ninety-nine, i could wish melissa a long, fruitful engagement without ever having to see her in person.”

jason snorts. “you could,” he begins, “but then you wouldn’t get to hear the customary gloating.”

“that’s true,” spencer says, nodding curtly. ever since melissa was a child, she would always broadcast her accomplishments, no matter how minuscule, as if she were a news anchor, or worse, a contestant in a beauty pageant. she entered into a one-way talent show upon birth and lived to one-up whoever stood too close to her at any given time. “if you had only been there the day she got her learner’s permit.”

jason grins. “remember when i had a fake mustache in my permit photo? _god_ , that was fucking hilarious. still don't know why the lady believed i had grown a full stache at sixteen."

spencer rolls her eyes, now flipping halfheartedly through blank cards, wondering how out of character and disingenuous it would read if she were to jot down a quick _congrats, sis!_ “how could i forget? i let you drive us home that day.”

"with good old melissa in the backseat, reaching over my head to crank my window shut so the wind wouldn't ruin her hair. i'm a  _great_ driver," jason brags, "it was her fault we hit the vice principal's mailbox. but nobody ever asked me for a hall pass again. even my baseball coach was afraid i’d take out his mailbox next.”

"then ali used your permit picture for an escort service ad she took out in the school paper." spencer smiles fondly at the memory of jason's flip phone in high school buzzing every ten minutes with girls interested in dating him. he'd actually gotten five separate requests to escort different girls to their senior prom, so he'd accepted all five, charged an arm and a leg, and gotten yelled at by one of the girl's fathers, who had been a chaperone and seen him juggling all five girls. spencer looks down at the card in her hand, shaking her head disdainfully. “what do you think?” she asks sarcastically. “classic melissa?” pink sparkles rub off the front of the card spencer holds under the light pressure of her thumb.

“maybe i should buy that and save it for your engagement to mailbox number…seventy-two?” jason asks innocently, referring to hanna’s number.

spencer grimaces. “did you memorize that with the intention of blackmailing her into a date?”

“i don’t have to blackmail people into dating me,” jason grins, “they ask me all on their lonesome.”

“how do you manage that?” spencer mutters, mostly to herself.

jason startles, turning back to look at her quizzically. “you want love advice from me?”

“how did you trick that poor intern into asking you out?” spencer tries for a disinterested conversation-making tone.

“jogged past her shirtless every time she was on her lunch break outside on the patio.” jason smirks. “works like a charm.”

“romantic,” spencer quips. she could definitely start jogging, but she doesn’t really think it would captivate hanna.

jason grins at her. “well, you know what they say. some people like romance, some people like…first edition copies of books written before soap or microwavable popcorn existed.”

“did you see that melissa already put her registry online?” spencer interrupts, ignoring the jab, “the _same_ day they announced the engagement. tactless. what do you think is on it?” she asks, pulling out her phone to check.

jason raises an eyebrow. “a land rover - in rose gold, of course - with a spacious backseat, perfect for lugging around their future infant tycoons.”

spencer bites her lip to stifle a laugh. “actually, so far i only see a tiffany’s tulip vase in hand-cut crystal. four hundred and ninety-five dollars.”

“dammit,” jason says, sounding at a loss. “i already bought the land rover.”

* * *

spencer never runs late, but this morning she is. when she steps into the elevator, she's surprised to see not only an elderly woman there, but hanna there also, up and out of her slinky pajamas before seven in the morning. "hi, hanna," she says curtly, not knowing whether or not they're on good terms. 

hanna flips the collar of her jacket up and shakes her long hair out, revealing a necklace with a phallic-shaped bobble hanging off of it. “how are you?” she asks spencer, giving no indication that anything is out of the ordinary. she balks. “what? you’re looking at me like-”

“-like you have two heads?” spencer asks, reaching out to lift the necklace up from hanna’s neck, laughing. when she touches hanna’s neck for that split second, she could swear hanna shivered, but maybe she imagined it.

hanna sighs in exasperation. “don’t ask.”

“bachelorette party?” spencer questions.

“i said not to ask!” hanna exclaims. "i was out all night yesterday looking for flesh-colored penis cake toppers! would you believe the sex shop had everything _but_ flesh-colored ones? fuchsia, magenta, apricot, even _teal_! when was the last time you saw a teal-colored penis, spencer?" hanna asks. "wait, don't answer that. i walked around this store until it _closed_. the sales woman stopped me and said 'if you haven't found what you're looking for in the fifteen hours we've been open, you aren't going to find it now'. so what am i supposed to tell the bride? sorry, but i could only find peacock-green penises!" hanna turns to look behind her, where the elderly woman stands, mouth agape. "just look at these!" hanna says in frustration, opening her purse to let spencer and the woman look inside. 

spencer raises her hand to decline. “no, thank you. it's too early in the morning for me to be looking at peacock-green penises. are you heading back to the same shop this early?"

"no," hanna sighs. “i have to finish setting up at the club now, but the worst part is, the party doesn’t start until ten tonight and it goes _all_ night. how am i supposed to stay awake? i got no sleep at all between googling flesh-colored penis party favors and my cats eating my penis candies." 

“maybe you should get some coffee before then,” spencer suggests. “there’s some nice places near my work,” she says conversationally.

hanna snaps her head up with a hopeful expression on her face, eyes wide. “really? i could meet you at one, then.”

“ _oh_ ,” spencer says, realizing she had just unintentionally asked hanna out for coffee. the elderly woman peers up at spencer and frowns at her. spencer wonders if it's because she's stuck in an elevator with at least one queer woman, or if it's because she thinks spencer is being a dickhead to hanna. 

hanna inhales sharply, embarrassed, and smiles without mirth. “sorry, i didn’t mean to say that and corner you in an elevator like this.” she backs herself into the corner of the elevator opposite the elderly woman, like she thinks spencer may be scandalized and might want space from her. hanna’s face has tipped towards the ground, probably wishing the elevator door would open so she could exit it and never speak to spencer again. spencer wants to grab her face with both hands and kiss her, box her further into the corner of the elevator with spencer's arms caged around her head, and kiss her like there's not an eighty-year-old woman watching them thinking she got lost on her way back from the bathroom and doesn't remember turning the tv to an episode of _as the world turns_.

“i’m free after work,” spencer says, barely recognizing her own voice, the words coming out of her from somewhere she doesn’t know. “you can put your number in my phone,” spencer continues, sticking her phone out, “so you'll know where to meet me.”

hanna looks up at her, the silence stretching out in front of them while spencer's head is full of static electricity. their eye contact is full of silent conversation - _why are you asking for my number?_ _is this a date?_ hanna’s eyes ask her so clearly that spencer can practically hear it. when hanna takes spencer’s phone from her, spencer watches her intently.

"excuse me!" the elderly woman huffs. "we've be on the ground floor for five minutes now! i'm going to be late to meet adeline at the grocery store and it's senior citizen day! what if they run out of eggs?"

spencer's head snaps up and she notices that the elevator door is wide open, revealing the empty and quiet lobby. she's standing directly in front of the elderly woman and blocking her path completely. "i'm sorry-" spencer winces, moving to the side "-good luck with your...eggs." 

hanna's staring and her with a shit-eating grin when spencer looks back to her. "good luck with your eggs?" 

"thank you," spencer says, pretending she doesn't recall that she was never going to get eggs. "good luck with your penises."

* * *

after work if she has time, spencer likes to walk through some of her favorite exhibits and past some of her favorite displayed items. while she waits for hanna to meet her, spencer stands in front of a replica of jackie kennedy’s pink suit, white gloves, and pink pill box hat. as it’s a replication, she’s allowed to touch the sleeve. she thinks the hanger doesn’t do it justice like a real person could and her immediate unintentional, unbridled thought is that hanna could do it justice. spencer, however, could never. she would turn it sour. it would look like a halloween costume on her. on hanna it would be at home.

she thinks of hanna sitting atop a mahogany desk, white gloves on her hands, fiddling with the hem of the pink skirt, maybe biting on a pen and smudging lipstick onto it. spencer’s desk is barren, every single document filed away alphabetically and chronologically in a set of drawers, her desk having room enough for hanna to perch on, turning an afternoon conference call into a musical, turning a black and white movie to color.

spencer can imagine how all the fake jackies at the annual company halloween party two years ago had looked - cheap, stiff brunette wigs with a fresh hot-ironed flip at the ends - and how hanna would look standing beside them. she would stand poised and probably would bring a date identical to jfk, who would end up being mistaken for the waitstaff by cleve, and hanna would allow it, wanting all eyes in the room on only her and not wanting to be upstaged, as if that was a possibility to begin with.

another one of spencer's favorite places is the third wing off of the second floor, because she'd helped organize their halloween company party alongside the party planner cleve always hired, all with a french revolution theme in mind, based on their exhibit on the second floor, with it's wax figures of robespierre, king louis, and queen marie. 

spencer can imagine how all the fake marie antoinette’s had looked at the annual company halloween party last year too - stark, ghostly-white powdered faces repeating the infamous falsified quotes with embarrassing vigor. hanna would have had minimal makeup on. instead, she would be wearing pink frosting from a cupcake on her upper lip and nose all night and she would have carried a small dog a la the sofia coppola version of the queen of deficit. she could have borrowed a small pug or pekingese for the night via a friend or from craigslist, and she would have let spencer lick the frosting from her mouth off in cleve's broom cupboard.

* * *

spencer, in hindsight, probably should have known judging by every interaction she's had with hanna that something was bound to go wrong if they scheduled more time together. of course the first time spencer tries to show hanna around her work, cleve would show up to harass them. melissa though, that was an added surprise. 

melissa stands before them, two delicate and bony hands wrapped around a starbucks coffee, with one very expensive-looking ring on her finger. her coat is gray and wool, falling just below her knee, her body language reading, as always, _i’m too beautiful, busy, and bored to be here_.

“melissa, what are you doing here?” spencer asks, truly confused, crossing her arms over her chest.

hanna bumbles with excitement beside her. “you’re spencer’s sister?”

spencer can only imagine aria must have heard all about melissa via jason, otherwise hanna must be an excellent mind-reader. 

“in the flesh,” melissa says, as if hanna is right to be awed to meet her, turning her head so her pin-straight, dark hair flips over her shoulder as if it were a sentient being unto itself, making a statement about it’s need to be introduced to hanna separately from melissa. spencer half expects melissa to do just that. _my name is melissa hastings, engaged to be married to one of forbes’ most handsome bachelors, and this is deep chestnut brown number six with honey caramel highlights foiled by selena gomez’s hair stylist._

“wow, you two look so alike!” hanna exclaims, looking between spencer and melissa with a wide smile. “you must have the hottest parents ever.” spencer tries not to preen like one of the show ponies she used to prance around on when she was a child when hanna inadvertently compliments her.

melissa wrinkles her nose, taking a dainty sip of coffee. “thank you, i suppose. i don’t know if my mother would appreciate that.”

“ _our_ mother,” spencer glares, “is not a pompous brat and would definitely be happy to hear that.”

melissa only smiles broadly at hanna, ignoring spencer completely. “and you’re one of cleve’s new interns?”

“he only wishes,” hanna smiles back, and spencer wishes she could communicate with hanna via morse code blinking and sign language that melissa is not being genuine. “i’m a friend of spencer’s. actually, we’re neighbors. i live above her.”

“wise distinction to make,” cleve harps, “spencer works too hard to keep many friends.”

“and yet, is still buried in the work she was in two years ago,” melissa simpers, smiling back at cleve when he laughs.

spencer has spent many days and nights, even in her own parents' home, feeling overshadowed by melissa, and at times, like she could never be good enough for anyone around her, but never has she been so surprised to be ganged up on at work during what began as a casual conversation. spencer can’t make time for friends, so don’t bother with her. she’s not phased by taking the brunt of any work project, but she’s still not good enough for a promotion or raise. spencer begins to twist her watch nervously around her wrist, unclasping and reclasping the back.

hanna, finally picking up on the tense nature between everyone present, opens her mouth to speak, and spencer can only pray she doesn’t say anything crass. “well, i think spencer is wonderful. she’s hardworking, dedicated, and smart, but i’m sure you know that, working with her.”

cleve’s expression drops, his face going pale. “yes, of course. i only worry that her focus on her job has taken priority over her personal life. she’s gone stag to all of our annual employee benefits and banquets ever since she started working here.” spencer grits her teeth, knowing she has to bite her tongue, and fully expecting to taste blood.

“oh, i don’t think you need to worry about spencer finding a date,” hanna laughs, steamrolling through the conversation now like a freight train. spencer watches her with horror, not knowing whether to step in to save her job, or let hanna continue, and take joy in seeing cleve and melissa look flabbergasted. “in fact,” hanna continues, “i’d love to go with spencer. i have a huge crush on her.”

spencer’s grip on her unclasped watch falters and she drops it, her hands having strangely gone sweaty. she looks at hanna nervously, as if trying to gauge whether or not she’s kidding. hanna only smiles at her in a soft way, unlike melissa’s tight-lipped, forced smiles, and spencer’s insides melt like honey.

“well,” melissa says suddenly, breaking the silence, and with one undeniably suspicious smirk, says, “that’s excellent. in that case, i’m sure our mother would _love_ to attend.” she turns to cleve and grasps his hand. “i’m sure she can convince the entire booster club as well, they’ve never met anyone spencer has dated.”

cleve looks stunned, but places one hand over her’s warmly. “fantastic, we’ll just have to add their names to the list once we find a replacement event coordinator.” her grimaces at melissa. “people are so unreliable these days. twenty years ago, people just weren’t-“

spencer has had enough of this. her blood boils at the thought of melissa trying to set spencer up for failure, to invite their mother and all of her overbearing, judgmental friends to witness what melissa expects to be a horrible, sham of a date. “you know, hanna is an event planner,” spencer interrupts, her voice shaking slightly with anger, “a much better one then sylvia gunn.”

“hasn’t sylvia gunn been planning your banquets for-“ melissa starts.

“-over a decade!” cleve exclaims. “she cancelled last minute to go in for hip surgery.”

melissa shakes her head. “that’s unacceptable, cleve. maybe it’s time for fresh, new blood.” she smiles once again at hanna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :) just one more part left. lmk if you liked it!


	3. three

melissa leaves the museum much like she leaves everywhere else - pilates class, the booster club, or family dinners - with little to no regard for all the trouble she may have caused, so long as she can go home to her fiance and their toy poodle _wren,_ and she and her fiance can compare all the atrocities they committed that day, and their dog can be the tiebreaker to who would be more apt to take satan's throne should the apocalypse happen in their lifetime. 

spencer's teeth are still grinding as cleve prattles on to hanna about the reason they're throwing the banquet, what themes are open for hanna to explore and which are completely off-limits, and which flower shops sylvia gunn used back in the nineties, half of which spencer expects are closed by now, if the owners were anywhere near sylvia's age. hanna graciously accepts cleve's cell number and offers him her own, promising he can text her day or night with guest list updates. when cleve finally leaves, spencer has no idea what to say. luckily, she apparently doesn't need to.

"you still up for coffee?" hanna asks gingerly, like she expects spencer to have decided against it, on account of hanna publicly announcing to spencer's boss and spencer's sister that she has a crush on her. when spencer thinks about it like this, she's floored when she realizes she actually couldn't care less. 

spencer blows out a huge breath of air, trying to expel the ball of nerves still rolling around in the pit of her stomach from hanna's earlier admission. "yes, let's head out before someone else decides to come up to us and warn you about my choice of salad dressing at lunch, or something." spencer sends an apologetic look towards hanna. "i'm so sorry about cleve."

"did you hear him back there?" hanna asks, snickering. "he actually told me a _gossip girl_ theme party was off-limits." she shakes her head in amused disbelief. "like i haven't thrown anniversary parties for multiple _senators_! if i hadn't already sworn off men, now would be a great time." 

spencer snorts, holding the door out for hanna as they exit the building. "that's not a half-bad idea." 

* * *

their coffee shop date-that's-not-really-a-date ends up turning into a brainstorming session in which hanna brainstorms floral arrangements and wine choices from a vineyard upstate and spencer brainstorms whether or not hanna was even serious about being spencer's date to the banquet or not. 

when the tab comes, hanna's nose is stuck in her notepad, her pen being bitten on. spencer picks up the tab and tries to talk herself down from texting jason and asking him if paying for someone's meal means you're on a date. she's sure jason would say _no_ and, although spencer has always believed that hope breeds misery, she would prefer to hope hanna hasn't brought up her so-called crush on spencer again only because hanna is truly passionate about party-planning and wants to focus on that at the coffee shop, and not because she had pitied spencer in that moment and had just thrown out that scenario to make her feel less tread on.

hanna finally looks up from her untouched croissant and smiles. her lipstick is a raspberry pink color and there's a lip-print of it's shade on her styrofoam coffee lid. spencer stares at it for longer than is strictly necessary. "do you want to come back to my apartment and look online for some _pinterest_ inspiration?" 

spencer thinks it over. she wonders if _pinterest_ is code for something, but guesses that it's likely not, otherwise old ladies everywhere are asking for sex acts from their friends unknowingly. if someone would have told her a month ago that she would be happily going back to another woman's apartment hoping to kiss her, but being perfectly happy to settle for listening to her talk endlessly about cupcake frosting colors and silverware patterns, spencer would have accused them of lying. "sure, as long as your cats can contain their excitement when faced with my presence again." 

hanna snorts and leads spencer out into the street to catch a taxi. inside the cab, spencer stares at the way hanna's black tulle skirt has ridden up once she's slid across the backseat to make room for spencer. hanna's phone rings before spencer can think of a topic to explore and she stays on the phone for the entire ride, occasionally humming her acknowledgements. her eyebrows knit with worry towards the end of the call and she scribbles something into her notepad again, before hanging up and laughing. "it was your wonderful boss." 

"already?" spencer asks, raising her eyebrows. "i hope he called on business, not to harass you about your love-life." if he were to treat hanna and her love-life the way he treats spencer and her love-life, or lack thereof, spencer would be horrified. 

"i don't think he would ask me out after today, if that's what you're worried about," hanna says, hiding her smug smile from behind her notepad. she exits the taxi and holds the door open for spencer. "but i'm flattered if you think someone who works for the museum would want to date me," she says, and spencer huffs. hanna simply smiles innocently, shuts the taxi's door behind spencer, and begins to walk away. 

"no kidding?" spencer asks, from behind her, "because my half-brother comes in to work on the exhibits all the time, and even he almost asked you out when he saw you in the lobby of the apartment for the first time." 

hanna stops short, her heels digging into the sidewalk below. she swivels back around to face spencer and looks at her strangely. "almost? what stopped him?" 

spencer feels her tongue pressing roughly up into the roof of her mouth and shakes her head in disbelief. she's never been the type of girl to let herself get caught up in someone so much that she stops monitoring what she's saying and completely exposes herself. "oh, sorry," she says, frowning innocently, "did you think it was me? he must have heard about your horrible case of pink-eye." 

hanna raises her eyebrows and laughs as they walk through the lobby. "my horrible case of pink-eye? now, is this something you _invented_ , or did you break into my mailbox and steal a doctor's note that i just don't know about yet?" hanna opens the elevator door and they both step in. 

"i may have invented it," spencer admits, "strictly to save you from jason, that is. you wouldn't want to date him. he has mono - he's really contagious right now." 

hanna bites her lip to keep from laughing. "oh, is he? funny how you're, like, my anti-matchmaker. i'm sure that doesn't mean anything." 

"oh, no, nothing at all," spencer says as she follows hanna into her apartment. 

spencer’s lip crooks up into a small smile when she sees the pink leather planner she got for hanna laying open on hanna’s countertop. hanna walks over to it, rips the pages from her notepad out, and stuffs them into the planner. spencer peers over and sees messy, half-cursive handwriting. she barely identifies the words _candelabra_ and the question _hydrangeas and cherry blossoms or peonies and orchids?_ scanning the next page, she sees something troubling. _tell spencer about mona’s std._ spencer balks. is this something spencer really needs to be informed of? she would prefer to be on a need-to-know basis when it comes to hanna’s exes.

“hey,” hanna says, her purse tucked under one arm and her notepad tucked under the other as she hobbles backwards and away from spencer, towards her butler's doors. her hobbling is due to the fact that she's already wrangled one heel off and is holding the second one by it's dainty straps. "i'm going to go put my shoes away! help yourself to the lemonade.” she tries to gesture to the pitcher of lemonade sitting on top of a magazine on her kitchen island, but drops her notepad, and curses as she bends down to pick it up, while still only wearing one shoe. hanna bursts through the butler's doors a few moments later, with white cat hairs that weren't there before now on her black tulle skirt. spencer is horrified to think about the fact that she finds the mental image of hanna hugging her cats every day when she gets home endearing. 

“why do you have a butler’s door?” spencer asks, while pouring herself a cup of lemonade. “anytime i’ve seen your apartment, you’ve had yards of fabric laid out where an area rug should be, cat hair and claw marks on your sofa, and you use issues of _us weekly_ to substitute for coasters. if you have a butler or a maid, they should be fired.”

hanna simply shrugs. “it came with the place. apparently the last owners installed it for their maid.” she approaches spencer with a suggestive smile like the squishy-faced cat that ate the canary. resting her elbows on the kitchen island in front of spencer so her cleavage is bared, she says, “sometimes, though, i put on a maid’s apron when i clean. wanna see?”

spencer, who had been taking a sip of lemonade, sputters gracelessly. the picture in her mind forms before she can stop it - hanna in one of those halloween costumes with the cheaply-made black spandex dress, hugging her waist tightly, and the frilly white apron tied tightly around her like a corset, bracketing her in like spencer had wanted to do to her in the elevator that morning, before hanna had come to meet her at her work.

spencer picks up hanna’s planner and sets it down in front of her, hoping it will act as a shield. she feels so overwhelmed, by everything, but especially by her own feelings of inadequacy, and what it means for her and hanna. if spencer continues to feel inadequate of giving hanna what she needs, and if hanna's ex-girlfriends are still going to play a role in her life, how can they be anything more than friends?

“you should do the hydrangeas and cherry blossoms,” spencer says conversationally, to distract herself, “the museum is partnering with an art gallery next month and we’re co-funding their japanese impressionism exhibit. their board of directors is coming to this event. having cherry blossoms would set a good-”

“-impression?” hanna asks, grinning and tucking her hair behind her ear. she doesn’t look put-off by spencer neglecting to give her an answer about the former statement. maybe she’d been joking, but spencer isn’t sure. “yes, that's what cleve was saying on the phone. that also might actually explain mona’s interest in the banquet. she always says the local museums and galleries don’t focus enough on asian artists,” hanna continues, looking apologetic now. “is that okay, if she’s there? her dad probably knows someone on the board of that gallery, or something. cleve insisted she had to get an invitation on the phone, along with a few other people.”

spencer stalls, looking down at the planner while she tries to figure out how to word what she wants to say, without hurting hanna’s feelings. well, at least now spencer knows that hanna doesn’t make a habit of inviting ex-girlfriends to her dates. “of course. it’s just that-” spencer looks at hanna’s attentive face and falters, her hand hovering over the planner. “-i sort of read this about mona’s, um, ailment, and-”

“ailment?” hanna asks, eyebrows scrunched. she flips the planner over. “let me see...oh! _tell spencer about mona’s save the date_. i just did, so let me cross this off.”

“ _save the date_?” spencer chokes out, her hand reaching out automatically to flip the planner back over again. is _std_ party planner lingo for _save the date_ , or is that just hanna’s personal lingo? spencer isn’t paying attention and the edge of the planner connects with spencer’s cup of lemonade and it tips over, spilling onto the counter and into hanna’s lap. “oh my god,” she groans, “i’m sorry, hanna.”

hanna snickers. “you’re just lucky i bought the knockoff of this skirt, instead of the original _burberry_ version.” she stands and spencer winces when she sees the dark, wet patch. “now i have the perfect excuse! be right back,” hanna says as she turns to push through the butler's doors again, “you can read the rest of the itinerary!” she shouts from behind the doors.

“ _shit_ ,” spencer hisses, standing up to find something to mop up her mess. she wishes her mind would stop working against her, seeing all of hanna’s interactions with past girlfriends as more significant than they are. by the time she’s cleaned the counter thoroughly, the butler's doors are swinging back open, and hanna is standing there in a black silk robe with a white half-apron, with scalloped edges, tied around her waist.

“what do you think?” hanna asks. “is this more martha stewart or more the stupid slutty maid costume every sorority girl wears? i think the silk robe makes it more martha. or, at least, martha’s well-paid maid when she was at that upscale _camp cupcake_ prison, right?” hanna pauses and gives spencer a weird look. “spence?”

“neither,” spencer says finally, letting out a heave of a pained sigh, which she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “you look amazing.” she lets her eyes rake slowly over hanna’s black heels, tanned legs, tanned thighs, and tries to stop before she gets to hanna’s chest, which is being featured as well, the ties on hanna’s robe loose and drooping to reveal an ample amount of cleavage.

“come here,” hanna says, grinning. when spencer is standing in front of her, hanna takes one of spencer’s hands and places it on her hip, and then leans in. when hanna’s mouth presses lightly to her’s, spencer’s hand gently fists the silk of hanna’s robe. hanna smells like brown sugar and vanilla again, like at her housewarming party, with a hint of something more floral, that might be perfume. spencer raises one hand to the base of hanna’s neck, gingerly holding her head in place, and hanna seems to get flustered by it, and lets her tongue graze spencer’s for what must be a millisecond, yet feels like an hour.

hanna seems to be pressing closer towards her, but spencer doesn’t realize it’s because she's been walking hanna backwards inadvertently, inch by inch until hanna’s back is pressed against the butler's doors, which precariously move behind her, as if they might swing open, and hanna might fall backwards into nothing.

“kitchen chair?” hanna asks breathily, and spencer lets go of hanna’s neck and takes a step away from her, grievously. forcing herself to stare at hanna’s wide eyes and sit down instead of kissing her again is not an easy feat, but she can understand why hanna might want to take a minute to talk things through, discuss how they should behave more professionally while hanna is technically also employed by her boss, and it could create an uncomfortable work environment, which would be insufferable. spencer seats herself in one of the kitchen chairs, expecting hanna to do the same.

instead, hanna smiles tenderly at spencer, and straddles her, making spencer’s stomach drop. spencer’s hand goes to hanna’s thigh unintentionally. hanna’s legs are buttery soft and smooth and part in just the same way for spencer, like butter. there’s no wiry hairs on her thighs, like spencer is used to touching when she’s been with men. with one leg on each side of spencer’s waist in hanna’s kitchen chair, spencer pushes hanna’s robe higher to feel her legs better.

hanna seems to lose her composure at the feel of spencer’s hand on the outside of her bare thigh, because her breath hitches so softly against spencer’s mouth that it’s almost indecipherable. her nose presses a little harder into spencer’s face as she wraps one arm loosely around spencer’s neck to get better leverage to kiss her with. hanna’s legs seem to be jittering slightly above spencer’s, like she’s nervous, or even panicked.

hanna kisses her so hurriedly and energetically that spencer wonders if hanna is only doing so because she’s afraid spencer might decide she’s not interested in hanna after all, and hanna wants to experience as much of spencer as possible before spencer comes to her senses.

the hand that isn’t wrapped around spencer’s neck is now on her chest, grazing over one of spencer’s nipples from over spencer’s crisp navy button-up shirt. braless as usual, spencer gasps and takes hanna’s hand in her own, stopping her. hanna’s face slowly lifts from spencer’s neck, where she’d been kissing enthusiastically, and her face looks crestfallen.

“i’m sorry,” hanna says, “i’m like a wolf in sheep’s robes.”

spencer’s eyebrows wrinkle. “you mean in sheep’s _clothes_?”

“well, i’m wearing a robe,” hanna says matter-of-factly. spencer looks down at hanna’s robe again. hanna’s bra is a pale pink and black satin bralette, more than peeking through at this point. hanna seems to catch her staring and hastily moves to tie the robe tighter. “don’t look at me like that,” she says sharply.

“why?” spencer asks, puzzled. she doesn’t like the way hanna covers herself up like she’s convinced spencer has already changed her mind. “you look gorgeous.”

hanna, still perched on her lap, though looking significantly less happy about it now, seems to scan spencer’s face for a hint of deceit. “then why’d you stop?”

“hanna,” spencer starts, squeezing hanna’s hand comfortingly, “i’m not going anywhere.”

hanna rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, effectively hiding her bra. “yeah, because i sat on you,” she says begrudgingly.

spencer nearly laughs, but manages to keep a mostly dignified expression for hanna’s benefit. “no, i mean, i’m not going anywhere because i don’t _want_ to. we don’t have to rush. i’m not going to get cold feet.”

“yeah?” hanna asks, looking unimpressed. “that’s what one of my brides said last month and then she snuck away before the ceremony and got into an uber with her groom’s best man.”

spencer grins. “what about the butler?”

“butler?” hanna asks. “no, we-”

spencer raises her eyebrows and clears her throat, gesturing towards herself with the hand that isn’t clasped with hanna’s. “that’d be me. i’m the butler.”

hanna’s eyes go thin with suspicion. “are you trying to instigate kinky maid-butler roleplay?” spencer goes red, thinking hanna is about to kick her out of her apartment again for being so rude, seemingly now a bad habit they’ve slipped into, when hanna smiles back. “so...less rushed?”

“yeah,” spencer says, “less rushed.” she lets go of hanna’s hand to bring hanna’s mouth back to her’s with one hand under hanna’s chin. hanna eagerly licks into her mouth again, but much more slowly this time, and doesn’t seem to be jittering like she was before.

spencer resumes touching hanna’s legs, her hand sneaking under hanna’s robe again, brushing past hanna’s underwear from over her hip. hanna schooches forwards even further into spencer’s lap and presses herself down onto spencer’s pant leg. she breaks off the kiss with spencer to make a pained whimper against spencer’s cheek, her hot breath so close to her ear that spencer shudders, hearing hanna’s soft noises making her hands clammy, and she’s suddenly aware of how wet she’s starting to feel.

then, hanna slips down from spencer’s lap and onto the floor, hands reaching up to touch spencer’s belt. “is this _tommy hilfiger_?” she asks, while undoing the steel gold buckle. “i love it.”

spencer’s hands go mechanically down to help hanna up, like her mind has grasped hanna’s true intentions, but her body believes hanna must have simply fallen over. when her hands end up resting on hanna’s shoulders, hanna says nothing, just unzips spencer’s tailored black _calvin klein_ work pants, and pulls them down to spencer’s ankles.

once hanna has shimmied spencer’s white cotton underwear down to spencer’s ankles as well, hanna very slowly removes spencer’s loafers, pants, and underwear. she looks back up at spencer with a slight grin and a question in her eyes.

“totally unrushed,” spencer admits, reaching up from hanna’s shoulder to tuck hanna's hair behind her ear. “i’m impressed,” she jokes.  

“good,” hanna says softly, looking flustered. her cheeks look slightly more pink and flushed than before, and spencer can feel herself getting impossibly wetter with the sudden realization that hanna really _wants_ to impress her.

spencer gathers the courage to open her legs for hanna with that knowledge whirling around in her head. she’s glad she has, because hanna’s mouth is hot on her body, her tongue just barely pressing against spencer where she needs it when hanna suddenly pulls back.

“you’re already-” _wet_ , hanna starts to say, but seems to choke on her words. spencer watches hanna swallow hard and rest her cheek momentarily against spencer’s knee, like she’s too overwhelmed for words, and then leans back in.

spencer’s hands move to grip the arms of the kitchen chair tightly, her knuckles going white with how hard she’s squeezing them, glad she’s not assaulting hanna’s shoulders like this. when hanna’s tongue presses against her, but stays stationary, instead of licking higher, spencer squeezes her eyes shut, squirming slightly in her chair, and inhales deeply through her nose to stop herself from letting out an embarrassing noise. “okay,” she says finally, voice strained slightly when hanna licks into her again, even more gently, “maybe a little more rushed.”

hanna brings her face out of spencer’s lap to snort, then she wraps her hands around the back of spencer’s thighs and gingerly pulls her forward. “you’re a control freak, aren’t you?” hanna asks, before she delves gently back in. hanna’s half-apron is still loosely tied around her silk robe and spencer tries to think about other things to keep from coming so soon.

she thinks about the banquet she’s taking hanna to, or rather hanna’s banquet, which she’s planning, which she’ll be bringing spencer to. she thinks about the waitstaff and if they’ll be wearing similar looking uniforms - black clothes with a scalloped half-apron. hanna currently has her face deep in spencer’s lap and spencer involuntarily imagines hanna this way at the banquet, from under the dining table, surrounded by guests, which does nothing to help her stay sane.

hanna continues to lick higher, slowly all the while, until spencer shakes and feels her limbs give out, crumpling against the chair immodestly, probably the only time within a year she’s been in a chair and not sat straight up, with her back at a perfectly ninety-degree angle.

when spencer moves to pull hanna back up into her lap, intent on at least _trying_ to impress her back, though she’s terrified of failing, hanna shakes her head, but looks fond. “next time,” she says, and throws spencer’s underwear playfully at her.

* * *

“sorry, i hope you don’t mind.”

spencer squints up at her, throat going dry. hanna’s sitting cross-legged under spencer’s _ralph lauren_ duvet, her cleavage threatening to spill out of her black silk nightgown. she smiles down at spencer, one hand going absentmindedly over her chest. she has a black satin sleeping mask hung around her neck, which begins to swing when her hand brushes over it. “mind…?” spencer asks. what could she have to possibly be upset about?

“i borrowed your reading glasses,” hanna says, smiling shyly. “decided to catch up on some work emails while you were asleep.” she lifts her phone, illustrating her point.

spencer squints again. huh. she hadn’t thought hanna had been wearing any glasses a second ago. “oh, that’s okay.” she scans hanna’s face carefully. a pair of rectangular black-framed glasses are perched on her button nose. “i better get ready for work,” spencer says, wondering what time it is.

“oh, you don’t need to,” hanna says casually, typing slowly on her phone. “you’re fired. cleve called and said he’s replacing you with melissa.”

spencer gasps. “with melissa?”

“yeah,” hanna sighs. “hey, do you think melissa has ever hooked up with a girl?” she shifts in the bed, bringing up spencer’s duvet to cover herself with.

spencer stares at her blankly.

“it’s just that-” hanna begins, lowering her voice and looking at spencer apologetically, “-you didn’t really know what you were doing last night, and melissa is more my type, anyway.”

spencer feels her stomach drop. she sucks in her breath. she doesn’t know what to say, so she settles on, “why are you whispering?”

hanna leans in close to spencer like she might kiss her. spencer’s insides loosen until she can breathe slightly again. her eyes zero in on hanna’s bare lips, for once naked, without the company of a waxy lipstick. instead, hanna just whispers again. “i didn’t want to wake her up,” she says, jutting her chin out to point to someone behind spencer.

spencer panics, quickly looking to her other side, where another girl is laying. this girl’s enormous pile of inky, nearly-black curls splay across one of spencer’s pillows. “don’t worry spencer,” aria says, finally opening her eyes, “i finished hanna off last night. why don’t you make yourself useful and make some coffee?”

spencer jerks upright in bed, bolting awake while panting, thighs sticking to her sheets with sweat. her hand immediately raises to wipe away the sweat matting her hairline.  _what a bizarre nightmare_ , she thinks, realizing she doesn’t even own a pair of reading glasses. she supposes in her next nightmare, mona will be in her bed too, now.

* * *

“spence,” jason tries, poking his head behind her bedroom door. “did you get lost in there? you’ve been in here for, like, forty-five minutes. the food is here.”

spencer looks down at the watch on her wrist. “ _shit_. i really have been, haven’t i?”

“oh my god,” jason says, wrinkling his nose as he sees the two black dresses she has laying on her bed. “who died? anyone i know?”

“nobody died!” spencer says, “why would you say that?” 

“you haven’t worn _that_ one since _my_ grandmother died-” he says, pointing to one and then to the other. “-and you haven’t worn _that_ one since _your_ grandmother died.”

" _jason_ ," spencer growls, "these are the dresses i _always_ wear to the banquets." 

jason frowns. "spence, just because all the wax figures in the museum are of dead people doesn't mean you have to wear funeral attire." he looks at the dresses again and grimaces. "i'm getting aria."

spencer collapses backwards onto her bed, accepting defeat. her head hits the pillows with a resounding thud. “no, you’re not,” spencer says calmly, “or i will kill you.” the last thing she needs is hanna’s ex-girlfriend coming in and asking her who spencer is spending so much time choosing her outfit for.

"you can kill me - just don't turn me into wax." jason snickers. “hey, aria!” he calls, “spence wants your help.”

aria pokes her head in the doorway and smiles. “hey, spencer. what’s up?”

spencer sits up and huffs. “nothing.” she just wants to get aria out of her room. “the food is probably getting cold. right, jason?”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” jason hums and walks to the door, “i’m going to go dig in. aria, babe, can you help spencer pick out an outfit for her date?”

spencer’s jaw drops. how did he know? she looks back to aria, who clasps her hands together like someone’s just told her she’s won the lottery. aria watches jason leave before walking to spencer’s closet and sifting through spencer’s clothes.

“so, who’s the lucky guy?” she asks. “does he work at the museum? is he really smart? maybe you should do a sexy librarian thing.”

spencer stares at her.

“i’m kidding,” aria explains, wincing. “has anyone ever told you to loosen up before?”

spencer clucks her tongue. “only every person i’ve ever met.”

aria nods, then turns her back to spencer, pulling out various tops, looking at them pensively, and then putting them back. “okay, let’s start with the basics. do you actually like this guy or did you agree to go because you felt bad for him?”

spencer imagines aria with protective eyeglasses and a lab coat on, with a clipboard in her hands, standing before a table of fizzing and bubbling chemistry sets. she’s analyzing _spencer’s_ date more than spencer has ever analyzed her _own_ dates before. “do people actually _do_ that?”

aria stares some more. “do you reject men often?”

spencer nods. “i don’t see why i should agree to a date if i’m not interested.”

aria rushes over to the bed and sits beside spencer, placing her hands on one of spencer’s knees. “that’s amazing,” she says earnestly, “you’re my new hero.”

“maybe your hero should be someone who can actually dress herself for a date,” spencer suggests weakly.

“oh, right!” aria says. “so, you like this guy a lot, right? you’re trying to impress him?”

spencer shifts uncomfortably. “ _well_. it’s hanna-” she blurts “-who asked me.”  

“ _oh_ ,” aria says, “ _god,_  i’m dense. _of course_ hanna asked you out. that explains why she sounds so jealous whenever i mention that i come here to have dinner with you and jason.”

spencer stares at aria, stumped. “you don’t mind...talking about this?” she asks.

“no,” aria says slowly, looking very serious. spencer senses aria’s sincerity. “i promise! i can see why she likes you.” she looks spencer up and down like it’s a self-explanatory statement.

“she sort of invited herself to be my date to this work function to do me a favor,” spencer says, “so what if she thinks it’s not a real date?”

aria clasps spencer’s knee again and laughs at spencer’s expense. “pay for everything and tell her she’s pretty.”

spencer rolls her eyes. “fine. which dress?” she gestures towards the two black dresses on the bed.

“don’t wear a dress,” aria says suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “hanna loves girls in suits.” aria stands up above spencer and inexplicably pulls her hair back into a ponytail, using an elastic from her own wrist to tie spencer’s hair up. “like this,” she says quietly, “she’ll love this.”

spencer stands and pulls a black blazer from her closet. “this?” she asks, feeling nervous.

aria grins. “yeah. don’t wear anything under it.”

spencer snickers. “you’re not setting me up to fail, are you?”

“i think you should let me text her and tell her how much thought you’re putting into this," aria says with an evil grin. 

spencer glares daggers down at her. “you know, you look small enough to shove into my closet and lock in there.”

aria grins and slaps spencer’s arm playfully. “okay, seriously though, no bra under that.”

that shouldn't be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as it turns out, the amount of things in this story i want to happen could not possibly fit into three parts, so there will be more! sorry for the delay, lmk if you liked it! 
> 
> oh, and if anyone was wondering, hanna's cats are named minnie and roman after the castevet's from rosemary's baby.


	4. four

spencer has on very minimal makeup and feels like it compliments her suit, making her look distinctly powerful and unbothered, though she’s actually very concerned that the night won’t go her way if melissa has anything to do about it.

“ _spencer_ ,” mona says, almost stuttering on her name, “you look fantastic!” she looks spencer up and down several times, like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “power dyke _really_ _suits_ you.” she smiles toothily. “pun intended.”

hanna steps out from behind spencer with her massively wavy blonde hair shining brightly, like an angelic, yet very fierce guard dog. she’s even wearing a black lace choker, like a dog collar, which only makes the thought more amusing. “sorry, she’s all _tied_ up. pun also intended.”

mona grins and looks towards spencer’s plummeting neckline. “i don’t see a tie.”

“oh, that’s because it’s non-existent,” hanna bites, glaring, “just like your flirting game.”

mona lets out a little high-pitched noise of indignation. “ _bitch_ ,” she says, looking aghast. 

spencer watches in shock as hanna’s face morphs from sheer rage into uncontrollable laughter. “it’s just too damn easy,” she says.

“oh, like you?” mona simpers, smiling back at her.

hanna shakes her head with mirth. “ _bitch_!” she says before tugging spencer away. “i hate her,” she jokes as she peruses the food laid out that her catering team must have spent hours on perfecting. spencer was craving dinner just before she saw hanna, but now she’s craving something else. hanna’s low-cut black lace dress shows an indecent amount of cleavage, but hanna seems unfussed about it, occasionally leaning over the table she’s perusing and flashing a young man who must be the photographer, who keeps averting his eyes, his face bright red.  

“hanna, that guy keeps looking at your chest and looking away.” spencer frowns.

“oh, don’t worry about him.” hanna takes a large bite of something with half a strawberry atop it, and grins. “that’s mike, aria’s little brother, and mona’s boyfriend. she would _murder_ him if he ever hit on me.”

spencer nods, wanting to be understanding, but feeling even more concerned. would mona kill mike for hitting on hanna because mona still has feelings for hanna? “speaking of mona,” spencer begins, “i really do like her-” she watches as hanna’s face contorts horribly and tension lines form between her eyes, so spencer clarifies “-not like that, obviously! i meant that i _like_ her, but the two of you dated, and-”

“-and we broke up because we don’t have the chemistry to be anything other than friends,” hanna promises, reaching out and squeezing spencer’s hand. “ _our_ chemistry is, like, nuclear.”

“it’s _nuke-lee-er_ , hanna. that was just bad,“ spencer says. she spots cleve coming over to them and she prays it’s just to be polite and make light conversation, not to steal hanna away from her, or vice versa.

“oh, really?” hanna asks, smiling softly and looking up from the spread of food. “have i been a bad girl? maybe you should punish me.”

cleve clears his throat. “hello, girls. if i might borrow you for a moment, hanna, to go over a seating chart fumble. you see, daniel cavanaugh is requesting to be seated far away from jessica dilaurentis. apparently they have some long-standing feud over something to do with fireworks, from over a decade ago. childish, if you ask me….”

hanna smiles at her apologetically, leaning in towards spencer to quickly kiss her, just the soft brush of hanna’s waxy bottom lip between spencer’s, before squeezing spencer’s arm, and following cleve through the well-dressed and well-educated crowd of people.

spencer stands there, feet rooted to the ground, and presses her lips together, watching hanna as she walks away. hanna’s dress has an open back, but her long, bouncy hair cascades over the line in her spine, and spencer can’t understand what kind of brain malfunction she must have had before that had prevented her from repaying hanna's sexual favor.

spencer’s fear of failure had always stood in the way of her proposing new projects to cleve, even from _asking_ for a promotion or raise. something about hanna’s confidence in her own capabilities is _more_ than just sexy - it’s also a rude awakening to the fact that spencer has been settling for work that’s beneath her ability.

when she had met hanna and realized that hanna was running her own hugely successful business _alone_ , and in her apartment, rather than an office, spencer had been jealous. hanna had everything spencer desired - the freedom to control every aspect of her job, the freedom to hold her future in her _own_ hands and not have to rely on incompetent people, and even the freedom to date whomever she wanted, with no shame whatsoever.

now, spencer sees that nobody was preventing her from having those things besides herself. hanna had offered to come to this event _before_ cleve even asked her to plan it because she believed in spencer - certainly more so than spencer’s boss, maybe even more so than her own family. speaking of her family, spencer’s mother is staring at her, in the middle of the crowd of people, clutching her purse in front of her stomach with two white-knuckled hands. why does she look like she’s just seen a ghost?

_oh._

veronica hastings - a woman of ferocity and unafraid of anything, turns away from spencer and walks in the opposite direction. spencer can only recall a few moments in her entire life where she’s actually seen her mother look _scared_. it’s as spencer is standing rooted to the spot by quicksand, trying to decide whether or not to follow her mother, when mona walks back over to her.

“it’s not as bad as it _could_ be,” mona says encouragingly, offering spencer a sympathetic expression. she looks down at the spread of food before them, hand hovering over the strawberry-adorned treats hanna had tried before settling on a spring roll. “my mom had a gps installed in my car during college, and i didn’t know. i was commuting, so i was still living at home and she wanted to keep tabs on me every second.” mona pauses to laugh and raises a napkin up to her mouth so spencer doesn’t have to see her half-chewed spring roll, for which spencer is eternally grateful. “as if i had _ever_ been a slacker and wasn’t acing every class! anyway, she followed me to a _frat party_. _yes_ , during _college_. don’t look at me like that, spencer. this was during finals week and she wanted me to be studying.” mona’s mouth is still stuffed full, so her words become muffled. “she came into the party fuming and found hanna and i making out in a kitchen full of screaming boys.”

spencer exhales noisily. “you made out with her in front of screaming boys?”

mona rolls her eyes. “ _yes_ , spencer. of course that’s what you care about - not my _trauma_. hanna and i made out at frat parties every weekend before we dated. we tried to blame it on alcohol until then. so, it was actually a blessing that my mom saw us. it forced me to work up the courage to _actually_ ask her out.”

spencer isn’t close enough to mona to feel particularly bad for her. “i’m sorry, but this story was so long that i can’t remember what the point was.”

glaring, mona says, “the _point_ is that your mom didn’t see you ramming your tongue down hanna’s throat with ten guys standing there passing around a joint.” she sighs heavily. “i’m _trying_ to be nice to you, bitch.”

spencer raises an eyebrow and stuffs both her hands inside of her pants’ pocket. “if this is you trying, i’d hate to see what you _not_ trying would look like.”

“forget it,” mona snipes, “i was trying for hanna’s sake, but i’m not a miracle worker.”

“did hanna ask you to be nice to me?”

“yes,” mona says, “after giving me a play-by-play of the way you walk into elevators holding briefcases, the way you look at her, and how sexy your bangs are.”

* * *

jessica dilaurentis sits with her pale hands twisted around her martini glass, her mouth crooked up into a sly smile. “it’s alright, veronica.” she reaches over and gently pats the top of veronica’s hand. “i have a niece who’s a lesbian,” she offers snidely, as she lifts her martini to take a dainty sip.

spencer looks on, horrified and frozen in place as mona’s mother leans in to join the already disastrous booster club conversation. mona’s mother furrows her eyebrows. “jessica, your havanese is a lesbian? i thought muffin was a _maltese_.”

“didn’t spencer play tennis all throughout high school?” jessica continues, looking contemplative. “my niece tells me that one of the characters on _the l word_ was a professional tennis player, and spencer _also_ seems to favour men’s clothing,” she says, referring to spencer’s suit.

mona’s mother huffs, looking affronted. “no, no, that’s silly. my mona has dated girls before and she’s never played tennis. although,” she says slowly, “one of those characters ran an art gallery and-” mona’s mother looks positively astounded “-my mona is _always_ going to art galleries.”

“excuse me,” veronica says, clipped and prim. spencer watches as her own mother gives both jessica and mona’s mother a reproachful look, before standing up and leaving the table, without pushing her chair back in, something she’s never done in front of spencer before, not even when she found out spencer was abusing her adderall prescription in high school. this must be worse than spencer can even imagine. spencer’s stomach twists and turns as she tries to decide whether or not to follow her mother into the bathroom.

spencer feels a hand at the small of her back, warm and comforting, and spencer feels minorly better knowing hanna is there to calm her nerves. “it’ll blow over,” a feminine voice says, before stepping in front of spencer, “mom’s always been _so_ gullible. i’m just grateful to be in on the joke this time.” melissa grins and clinks her glass of wine into spencer’s so roughly that the sharp pang of their glasses colliding makes spencer jump.

“what are you talking about?” spencer asks.

“oh, come _on_ , spencer.” melissa rolls her eyes, “this is exactly like the time you knew mom was going to sneak into that hamlet production in middle school you were embarrassed about because you had to play a _man_ , so you pretended to be dating that kid who’s parents tried to get mom kicked off the pta for those burnt brownies.”

spencer gapes. “this is _not_ like that, melissa. _you_ orchestrated this - not me.”

melissa shrugs, tossing the long, dark curtain of her hair over her shoulder. “still...i hate to admit it, but i’m impressed. i wasn’t aware your sense of humor was so sharp.”

“well, i’m _so_ glad that humiliating me is so humorous to you,” spencer says. “we’ve had our differences, but i would _never_ do something like this to you. this is exactly why i went to _jason_ for advice.”

melissa snorts, and the crude noise coming from melissa’s delicate, nude-lipstick-covered mouth is very unbecoming on her. it reminds spencer of those hugely muscular meatheaded men who pass by her on the street walking ten pound dogs - totally weird and unnatural to witness. “oh, i should have known,” melissa smirks, “this prank has jason’s juvenile high school pranks written all over it.”

“it’s wasn’t a prank!” spencer shouts, and several members of the booster club who had been sitting at the table with their mother turn suddenly to watch their argument unfold like they expect somebody to throw their fake leg onto the table, like a reenactment of a _real housewives of new york_ episode, a show that is spencer's mother's guilty pleasure. “is it so hard to believe that i could actually have feelings for a woman?”

melissa’s expression shifts into something spencer has never seen before - she looks almost _apologetic_. it’s an even _more_ unnatural look on her. melissa opens her lips and puckers them like a fish, looking completely unsure of what to say. “well - i don’t know. i guess that would explain the tennis obsession.”

spencer throws her hands up in exasperation and stalks off angrily, her heels clacking harshly against the marble floor. on her way into the bathroom to find her mother, she fishes her phone out of her purse and shoots jason a quick text saying she needed to talk to him badly and that it's an emergency. he’s the only person right now in her family that she can trust.

* * *

“spencer, it’s not about who you date or who you want to be with,” veronica says, sighing heavily. she’s sitting on the closed lid of a public restroom’s toilet seat with her heels off, her bare feet touching the floor of the bathroom. spencer hopes it’s been cleaned recently. “it’s that i want to be a part of your _life_. i don’t want be the last to know when something important happens to you.”

spencer feels herself tearing up. “i promise, from now on you’ll be the first to know _everything_. i’m going to start texting you so much, you’re going to get a _headache_ every time your phone dings. tomorrow you can look forward to a text of me saying what color mug my coffee is in and how many calories my muffins are.”

veronica wipes away a stray tear and laughs brokenly. “i appreciate that.”

spencer sucks up her fear of public restrooms and sits cross-legged in front of her mother. she’s once again being karmically rewarded for wearing a suit to the function. “i’m sorry - please don’t be upset. it’s just - it’s _new_ \- i’m still figuring it out and-”

veronica lifts one hand to silence spencer. “it’s alright, spencer. you should go and find your date. if she’s anything like melissa said, she’ll probably want to _kill_ melissa once she finds out.”

“oh, god,” spencer moans, “what did melissa say about hanna _now_?”

“oh, you know melissa,” veronica says with a knowing look, “she mentioned what happened when she met hanna and she said that hanna is loud, temperamental, and aggressive.” veronica smiles when she notices spencer becoming visibly agitated. “between you and me, i think melissa is a little jealous of how protective hanna seems to be, because her fiance is more of a lapdog then wren, the _actual_ dog - that little yippy thing.”

“mom!” spencer says, grinning. “stop!”

* * *

spencer trips backwards into hanna’s apartment, nearly stepping on one of hanna’s cats, the white one, who skitters away with a slightly annoyed meow. they’re the reason why they’re relocating to spencer’s apartment after hanna finds whatever she needs. neither of them were keen on the idea of hanna’s cats in her bedroom while they slept together. spencer has already forgotten to ask what it was that hanna needed to get from her apartment because hanna has pushed spencer into the wall and kissed her until hanna seems to remember why she’s there. she bursts through her butlers' doors to go look for something in her bedroom. spencer is too busy checking her phone to notice when hanna has returned and hanna’s impatience apparently hasn’t yet faltered.

“why didn’t jason text me back?” spencer asks herself aloud. “he’s so unreliable!”

hanna’s hand reaches down to take spencer’s as she drags her back out of her apartment and back to the elevator, where she attempts to begin kissing spencer again. spencer has gotten so far as to have placed her hand on hanna’s ass and has her hand twisted in hanna’s hair while hanna presses her to the elevator wall before she realizes it’s not the right place, though she’s happy to have made that prior daydream actually come true.

once inside spencer’s apartment, hanna hurls her own pink coat off in the direction of spencer's dining table and unbuttons spencer’s blazer and tugs it off as they're walking backwards down her hallway. hanna spreads her hand gently across spencer’s stomach as they enter spencer's bedroom, her thumb pressing lightly to the underside of her breast. hanna’s hand moves to hold spencer's hip, sliding past spencer’s slightly protruding ribs, spencer’s body tenses with nerves. hanna pulls her closer so spencer’s bare chest presses to the lace of hanna’s dress. “you’re so hot,” hanna says.

spencer grins. “are you sure? because i’m not holding a briefcase right now.”

“fucking traitor!” hanna says with a laugh, presumably referring to mona, and going pink in her cheeks, “yes, i’m sure!” after unzipping her dress and letting it pool around her ankles, she steps out of it and kicks it away. it’s the sole article of clothing on spencer’s bedroom floor, which is otherwise impeccably clean. spencer would be unsurprised if hanna’s bedroom floor had several piles of expensive-looking cocktail dresses bunched together on the floor, discarded outfits hanna couldn’t decide between to wear to the banquet. hanna follows spencer’s line of vision to her discarded dress on spencer’s floor and then looks back to spencer, shrugging. “i guess you’ll need a maid after.” she smirks. “i know a girl.”

spencer watches with bemusement as hanna moves to sit on her bed, her back and head resting against her gray velvet headboard, her hair becoming mused as she does so. “did she also tell you how long i’ve wanted to be in your bed for?” hanna smirks, looking fairly proud of herself for keeping that information to herself.

spencer shakes her head, smiling, and following hanna. she pulls back the duvet and scoots in beside hanna, snorting when she notices that even though hanna has been in her bed for all of thirty seconds, all of the sheets and blankets beneath spencer’s duvet have already been twisted and jammed towards the bottom of the bed. “how did you already make a mess of my bed? did you want to get in my bed so badly because you found an ancient mesopotamian artifact in your own messy bed and wanted to come over to mine and ask if you should submit it to the museum?”

hanna starts laughing and yanks one of her pillows out from behind her back to press it against her face with embarrassment. “shut up!”

spencer pries the pillow away from hanna’s death grip on it and tosses it aside, looking down at her fondly. hanna enthusiastically springs forward to kiss her before the thought has even formed in spencer’s head. surprised, spencer makes a noise and gently presses hanna back, so she’s not resting on her forearms. she loses track of time while kissing hanna, the first time in months where she’s allowed herself to be fully in the moment, and not busy processing all the things she needs to do for work, keeping her awake at night, or jolting her back to her office, even on her days off.

hanna is still kissing her languidly as her legs wrap less patiently around spencer’s waist under her rumpled sheets, just her pair of tiny underwear and spencer’s tailored pants. spencer jams her face into the sheets beside hanna’s neck and tries not to moan. into her ear with slightly labored breath, hanna says, “inside my purse.”

spencer lifts her head in confusion, but reaches over to where hanna has thrown her light pink bag on spencer’s bedside table and ends up pulling a hot pink cordless vibrator out of it.

hanna thumbs over the cleft in spencer’s chin gently while she rocks up against spencer. “oh my god, the only way this would be hotter is if you had pulled that out of a briefcase.”

spencer laughs a little breathily, voice hitching as hanna twists one hand between them to unbutton spencer’s pants and feel spencer through the damp spot of her underwear. “i’ll try to arrange that next time, but first i’ll have to take out all the acquisition records, photocopied historical documents, and budgetary analysis paperwork from it.”

hanna grins, sitting up in bed and wrapping her arms tightly around spencer’s neck as she sits in spencer’s lap. there’s a faint trace of sweat in the dip of hanna’s neck, probably from how warm it was with their bodies pressed together under several layers of blankets. spencer kisses it softly, allowing hanna’s hands to guide spencer’s to help her peel off her underwear. hanna unabashedly throws them halfway across the room, making spencer shake her head and laugh slightly.

hanna presses the vibrator closely to her, settling onto it from the slightly cramped position, spencer’s hands wrapped maybe more awkwardly around it then she’d like to admit, but it’s the last thing she’s thinking of as hanna takes the bulk of the toy in one slide, wet enough that there’s no resistance. hanna suddenly makes a noise and grabs almost violently at spencer’s wrist as spencer accidentally turns the vibrator on.

after a solid minute of hanna lifting slightly away from the vibrations due to the force of them, she finally starts circling her hips and grinding down on the toy in spencer’s hand. “fuck, say that stuff from before again.” spencer laughs deeply into hanna’s ear, but says nothing. “come on, photocopy the _fuck_ out of me.”

spencer laughs again, but decides to turn the vibrator up without warning. hanna makes a high-pitched keening sound and falls forwards, her legs spreading wider across spencer’s lap and one arm reaches out blindly behind spencer for leverage. she braces the wall above spencer’s headboard and inhales sharply, her legs shaking slightly. she seems to be off-balance, so spencer uses her free arm to wrap around one of hanna’s thighs to steady her. hanna is so wet that the insides of her thighs are shiny with it, the light exposing it whenever hanna moves.

hanna freezes suddenly, her eyes squeezing shut and mouth parting slightly, and comes, immediately losing control of the muscles in her legs, sitting flat to spencer’s lap, and letting the vibrator further inside of her by accident. she makes a sound like she’s in pain, but grips spencer’s shoulder roughly and shakes her head when spencer offers to take it out. “keep going,” she says, and spencer swears under her breath, and complies.

spencer’s hand is wet from hanna baring down on it, spencer’s knuckles brushing lightly against hanna’s clit as the toy whirrs inside of her. spencer turns the vibrations up a notch again and kisses the side of hanna’s throat. hanna gasps and her hand moves to clumsily slap against the wall as she tries to bare down further on it. she comes again with spencer’s knuckles pressing against her clit and the vibrator going strongly enough that she whimpers, and her legs quake now twice as hard, before giving out like they’re made of jelly.

spencer falls backwards, yanking hanna down with her, who begins softly kissing down spencer’s bare chest, between her breasts, and down to her stomach. by the time spencer has gotten off, her pants are now buried at the foot of spencer’s bed under her sheets, along with the other ancient relics - hanna’s bra and spencer’s underwear.

* * *

spencer jerks upright in bed anxiously for the second time that week, except this time it’s not due to a nightmare. she spends approximately ten seconds staring confusedly with bleary and thin eyes while making direct eye contact with jason, who is frozen in the doorway, with one hand still on her door handle, before understanding why he looks so scandalized. did she forget they made brunch plans, or something?

spencer looks down at herself. her sheets are resting beneath her chest, which is completely exposed, and hanna moves from beside her, looking much the same, apart from the fact that her long and still loosely curled from the night before is covering everything substantial, which is more than spencer could hope for. jason finally comes out of his trance and ducks out of the room, forgetting to close the door behind him.

“i’ve made a horrible impression on _three_ of your family members in the past twelve hours _alone_ ,” hanna says quietly. she seems to be mourning, but whether she’s mourning her dignity or her failure to impress spencer’s evil sister, judgemental mother, or just plain idiotic half-brother, spencer doesn’t know.

spencer groans quietly and lifts her fists to rub her eyes before pulling a navy _ralph lauren_ fisherman sweater over her bare chest, along with a pair of leggings. she reminds herself to get her old zip-up sweater back from hanna. when spencer looks over at her again, hanna seems to still be stewing silently. she looks like she can’t be bothered to cover up now that jason has left anyway. spencer wants to comfort her, but the notion of her not impressing spencer's family cannot easily be refuted, not even if it _wasn’t_ before spencer’s morning coffee.

spencer’s bare feet are freezing as she pads across her wooden floor to meet jason in her kitchen. she leans against the doorframe of her kitchen, frowning at jason without much impact. it was far too early for her to muster any anger into her stare.

jason shrugs innocently. “i didn’t see anything,” he lies, then clarifies what he means, “because you’re as flat as a diving board.”

spencer looks on, unimpressed. “bastard. coffee?” she asks throatily, then clears her scratchy morning voice.

jason nods. “i’m sorry - you weren’t answering your fucking phone and you said it was an emergency! i used my key.”

spencer waves her hand in the air like it’s no big deal. while she’s making the coffee for herself and jason, hanna finally comes out of spencer’s bedroom, fully dressed in last night’s low-cut lacy dress and heels. it’s a classic walk-of-shame outfit if spencer has ever seen one, but she’s glad hanna doesn’t actually seem embarrassed by it.

“i’m so sorry about that,” jason apologizes sincerely to hanna from his seat at the dining table. he gestures to the coat thrown haphazardly on spencer’s kitchen table that he must have assumed was spencer’s and meant spencer was home. “i should have known spencer wouldn’t have a bright pink coat like that.”

“it’s an orchid pink _miu miu_ ,” hanna corrects.  

“orchid pink,” jason agrees solemnly.

hanna looks to the door like she wants to bolt. “i have to be at the baby shower i’m working in a few hours, so i should be going.” she glances to spencer almost longingly, like she wants to be walked out, but she doesn’t give spencer enough time to react before slipping out the door.

the second hanna slips away on her heels and shuts the door behind her, jason looks at spencer expectantly. “go out there,” he insists, “kiss her.”

“ _jason_ ,” spencer sighs, “stay out of it.”

“she’s going to think you don’t like her,” jason hisses.

spencer thinks of hanna last night, crawling into spencer’s lap, kissing spencer’s jaw and winding her arms around spencer’s neck, and thinks of hanna leaving this morning feeling dejected and unwanted, and she immediately shoots out of her chair and follows hanna out into the hallway.

“hey,” spencer says, shutting the door softly behind her. “can we talk for a second?”

hanna purses her lips. “it’s okay, i get it. it was - _fun_ .” the word _fun_ comes out of her mouth with a slight grimace, as if it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. spencer wonders if hanna hears she’s “fun” in bed a lot, and how many girls have sideswiped her before. “i have to go feed my cats or i’ll be late to my baby shower. i shouldn’t have slept so late.” she looks down with a small, almost sentimental smile on her face, already reflecting on her night with spencer, as if it was already a far-away memory.

spencer is pained. “i’ll feed them,” she offers without thinking.

hanna stares. “you hate my cats,” she says very plainly. all of her fire from the past twenty-four hours has died out. she looks like a wilted flower, her face crumpled. spencer misses hanna’s anger, since it was proof that she _cared_ , while she seems to currently be pretending _not_ to.

“ _hanna,_ ” spencer sighs, “i don’t hate your cats. they hate me.”

“so why would you want to feed them?”

spencer isn’t sure offering to feed cats is much of a grand gesture of showing prolonged, genuine interest in someone like she hoped it might have been. she sighs in exasperation once more for good measure. she decides to try a different tactic. “you agreed to organize and host the business party. i owe you a favor.”

hanna grins at her strappy black heels. “you already did me a favor last night,” she reminds spencer, looking embarrassed to have said that aloud.

“two favors,” spencer corrects, “but who’s counting?” 

hanna blushes furiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bizach.tumblr.com


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